


Tzadik

by BarefootGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 19:24:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarefootGirl/pseuds/BarefootGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester did what he had to do. He didn't dwell on it.  But he never forgot, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tzadik

Dean staggered out of the bar, catching his hand against the wall briefly as though to keep his balance, and then knocked into Sam, who hadn’t noticed that he’d paused. They laughed boisterously, a too-drunk-to-give-a-shit laugh, and staggered down the rest of the stairs together, the hail-fellow-well-met awkwardness of inebriation.

Nobody followed them out.

The Impala was parked down the street, in another more upscale bar’s lot. They’d learned their lesson years ago: don’t leave Baby anywhere drunk sore losers might take their anger out on her tires.

“How’d we do?” Sam asked him, his brother’s voice stone cold sober in his ear. He’d been playing, letting Dean handle the bets.

“Good night, should cover us the rest of the week.” Hustling pool wasn’t a high return game, and it wasn’t risk free, but a bar fight was better than getting busted for fraud if they used fake credit cards too often in one area. And having folding money was never a bad idea. He reached into his pocket and counted the bills. Nearly three hundred dollars, mostly in tens and twenties.

“Two-fifty.” He handed Sam a hundred and twenty-five, with a smile. “Your half. Try not to spend it all in one place.”

His brother scoffed, and tucked the money away. They’d learned the hard way not to keep their winnings in one pocket. “I’m beat,” he said, when they reached the car. “Think we can sleep in tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure, why not,” Dean said, opening the driver’s side door and sliding in. “Unless something jumps out at us overnight.”

They both knew that they’d be awake at the usual time. But talking about sleeping in was sometimes as good as actually doing it, just the knowledge that they could, maybe, this time. That the various ghosts and monsters would step back and say ‘no, go on, take a moment, we’ll just be over here having a cigarette….”  
Dean almost choked on that thought, shaking his head. “Man, a couple hours of sleep, yeah.”

When they got back to the hotel, the lot – admittedly tiny – was almost full. Taking pity on his brother, who could barely keep his eyes open, he let Sam out closer to the building, then found a spot at the far end of the lot where Baby was less likely to get scratched by some dumb fuck who couldn’t maneuver. Sam laughed, but dad always told him to take care of the car, and it would take care of them when they needed her, and dad knew what he was talking about.

Okay, so maybe he’d been talking about the engine and the tires and making sure he always had at least three-quarters in the tank, but shining her up didn’t hurt, either.

 

 

#

Dean was laughing to himself over some memory when a shadow near the side door of the motel made him shift his weight, even as he was walking. He felt the press of the knife in his boot, the cool heft of silver knuckles in his pocket – he’d once saved his ass by shoving them down a werewolf’s throat, so screw anyone who tried to tell him the metal was too soft to be useful - even as his brain translated the shadow from _potential threat_ to _not a threat_ and then to **_oh_**.

And before he could stop his feet, he’d pivoted, walking toward the back of the motel, where the crap outdoor lights gave up, and the shadows became full darkness. A good place to hide… or simply not be seen.

“Hey.” He kept his voice low, soft, not trying to carry more than a few feet.  If nothing answered, no harm no foul.  But he knew - _knew_ \- that he'd get a response.

The darkest shadow turned, stepping forward, like he didn’t want to be there but couldn’t resist. Human-shaped, male, and probably ten, fifteen pounds less than what he should weigh, his arms bare to the night air and his jeans riding low enough to show he was going commando, hip bones jutting sharply.

Dean didn’t let memories take up too much of his head; wasn’t much use to it, and thinking the wrong thing at the wrong time could get someone else killed. But his skin prickled, remembering bare skin exposed to late night air, sweat and tension ratcheted up the way it never did in a fight….

“Hey,” he said again.

“Twenty down, fifty up,” the kid said, chin jutted like it didn’t matter a damn to him one way or the other. “A hundred bare. And we do it here, I don’t go into rooms.”

“I see inflation’s hit here, too.” Dean felt the extra fifty, the bills he hadn’t told his brother about, folded in his front pocket.

“Gotta eat,” the kid shrugged.

“Yeah. You could use a few extra meals,” Dean agreed. If the kid was pulling two bills for a blow, either business was crap or he was feeding more than one mouth, to be that skinny. Or he was pumping it into his veins, instead.

Dean reached out – slow, not aggressive – and took the kid’s wrist in his hand, turning one bare arm up into the light.

Clear, clean skin, pale and unmarked.

“I’m clean.” The kid sounded offended. “Don’t shoot, snort or smoke.”

“Shouldn’t go bare, either,” Dean said, and with his other hand pulled out the fifty bucks. “That’s not worth the money.” He slipped the bills into the kid’s hand, and then dropped his hold, turning away.

“Hey.” The kid sounded…confused. “I told you, I don’t do rooms.” He paused, suddenly realizing that Dean was still walking away. “Don’t you want…?”

“Go get some breakfast,” Dean said. “I need my sleep.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> After so much fanon about Dean turning tricks when the money ran out (a logical assumption, considering the evidence), I wondered... what sort of a mark does that leave on the adult? This story fell out, in answer.
> 
> beta'd as usual by the ever-patient obsessionisaperfume. (I swear, I'll get the rest of Iterations posted RSN!)
> 
> Takes place (more or less) 1st season.  
>  
> 
> about the title:
> 
> I freely admit to abandoning most religious studies two decades ago, but in Judaism, righteousness is _tzadek_ , which can be translated variously as charity, a compassion and love for others, and the act of doing the right thing for the right (moral) reason. I’m cherry-picking this definition, in Dean’s case, because it fits my headcanon of "the righteous man." 
> 
> "One whose merit surpasses his iniquity is a tzadik" - Maimonides


End file.
